


Don't let me go

by ShadowSelene (Shadowdianne)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 03:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18421563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowdianne/pseuds/ShadowSelene
Summary: “Hello dear.” She spoke, and her voice was scratchy and alive with hundredths of lives that called for her, willing to be taken. “Missed me?”emmetkaysworld asked for a fic based in Don't let me go by Raign





	Don't let me go

**Author's Note:**

> So, this one has a little bit of story.  
> Once upon a time, in 2015 more specifically, yours truly was obsessed with the Dark Swan arc. During the last four seasons or so I took on writing “lost scenes” of each chapter and until they basically said fuck you to whatever they had been gearing the plot with the pictures and short video they released I couldn’t stop being mesmerized by the possibilities of having Emma turn into what’s basically her opposite.  
> So I wrote plenty of one shots and short series -the longest one being A hundred steps- in where I sort of explored the many ideas I had regarding that. One of the many one shots I wrote for this was “Lost.”  
> Lost was written after we got the scene back at the woods, with Emma pleading to Regina to do whatever is necessary in order to stop her if that ends up being their only option (and giving her the dagger in the process) Taking that bit and the short video that was released I wrote a piece in where Regina found herself unable to do that but, ultimately, they were forced to lock Emma up.  
> Emett had a very specific scene when they asked me to write this prompt but the moment I started listening to the soon in loop this other one shot popped in my mind. At first I considered doing a second chapter of sorts, have Regina’s inner thinking on it, maybe explore more what it meant for her. But the more I thought about it the longer I started to think… that it’s 2019. Four years after “Lost.”  
> So this is an answer to Emmet’s prompt but also a kind of writing exercise for me. The scene is the same but dialogues have been tweaked. Let’s see what I can do after this time.  
> (If you have read the note hi, I love you xd)  
> PS: Also, kuroneko; in case you read this too: Thank you for every bookmark you’ve made on my work. I truly appreciate it.

_“I’m reaching out wide//trying to catch myself before I fall//Too little too late”_

Lichen covered the rocks around her, air stale and heavy. Drops of icy water falling; the sound of them ricocheting against the stone filled the, otherwise, chocking silence devoid now of the screams that had left her throat sore and raw during the first days there. The peels of maniac laughter had floated up and she had stared at them as they added to the already ghastly and putrid light the mushrooms that seemed to grow within the darkest corners of the catacombs.

Everything else, from the iridescent insects floating above uneaten food to the dust particles that floated between the brave beams of light that seeped from the entrance above, was covered in that chocking silence.

And she found that she liked it; the oppression; the same weight she felt between her temples.

She had learnt to like it at least; to like the walls in where hundredths of bones rested, slowly molding themselves to the stone; grey and fractured and heavy. The last proof that dragons had roamed the land above them all once upon a time. Now, their remains built her very same cell; decadent and forgotten. Just like her.

Blinking, Emma tilted her head as she peered through the bars of her prison, at the very bottom of the pit the roots of Camelot sat in. There was a faint sound, one that echoed deep on her limbs and she could do nothing but hiss as warmth spread behind her eyes, fever breaking through her skin.

She didn’t try to roll over the now filthy cot they had given her, her shivers wrecking her body. Once upon a time she had tried to fight them but now she only let out a gurgled sob as she kept herself immobile; all sunken cheeks and far too fair skin glowing in the almost total darkness. There had been torches there but they had consumed already, and no one had bothered to replace them; the ashes and burnt wood paler shadows at some point ahead of her, at the other side of the bars.

The sound didn’t quite reach them, her cries whimpers and Emma’s chest heaved, spit covering her lips as she tried to re-focus her gaze, mind swimming while the whispers reached through the soil her body rested against, hands that weren’t truly there marring her body with red and blood.

She longed for them to take her, but she knew they wouldn’t; just like she herself couldn’t escape.

The somber thought morphed her sobs into a mirthless chuckle as her hands rose, her palms covering her eyes, pressing against them willing for the warm to leave her, for the throbbing pain she felt with every inhalation to die. It was no use, of course, there was no warmth, just the pale resemblance to something like that and she wondered for the thousand time how that wasn’t an irony within itself. It was, she decided, her thoughts forming an almost mumble that escaped her trembling lips; of course, it was.

Sending a frustrated scream towards the bars she almost drew a slow smile at the way they trembled, the almost glow they emitted proof that the guards were still in place, keeping her inside, keeping others out.

And, she thought as she licked crackled lips, if they were still there it meant that someone would still remember her.

_“I thought you wanted to keep us inside.”_

The voice coiled around her earlobe, venomous and rotten just as her magic was now and she growled at it, as she watched as the shadows grew fingers that grazed her own. She had been afraid of them, of what they meant, but not anymore. Magic and darkness were now her domain. Yet, she snarled at the words, at what they implied.

Her anger and pain were momentarily cut from her as she heard the cavernous echo of chains clacking together, the platform made out of wood and poorly yielded metal shifting several feet above her. A visitor.

_“I wonder who wants to see us.”_

The voice held a sense of amusement now, as if it was smirking behind Emma’s own lips, toothier than the woman’s own smile, darker, sinister. Emma didn’t let it appear, but she still swallowed and cleaned the specs of saliva from her mouth with the back of her hand, the mud that already covered it from whenever she had dug into the earth, trying to reach for the hands that grasped for her leaving behind an almost iron-like aftertaste.

Despite her best instincts, she didn’t come forth to the bars; already knowing there would be no use. Mutters of footsteps approaching, usual words of warning floating to her and she clenched her hands, balling them into fists, as her joints screamed at her, abused on their disuse.

There were mere fading calls of a body that didn’t truly belong to her after all, the only thing that made her stand as tall as she was the promise of a pulsing magic that was becoming closer by the second; the thirst the power created within her one she had forgotten already why it was a bad thing to feel.

Finally, the steps reached the further end of the bottom of the pit, the small falter on them eliciting just the softest calls from within her magic, a bait, one she knew it wouldn’t be taken. It wasn’t like Regina to fall into something so crude.

Yet, she wondered, they wondered, both she and the voices, if the woman was here to finally do it; to finally fulfil a deal that had been broken many times already, in far too many different ways. Wishing again the cruel laughter that wasn’t hers as much as it wasn’t the one of others, she fought against the hope that threatened to poison her heart further; the dark spots that had begun to form on a once perfectly pure red proof of the ongoing change she was currently submerged in. She growled at it, at the way her right hand rose and clawed through the dirty rags she wore; fighting at the need of plucking it out, chucking it away, wishing it gone.

She had been the hope after all; have hold that title until it had crushed it; nothing but her corpse for the maggots to feel off.

The voice of a man was the first thing that reached her as the footsteps kept on approaching, the light of a slightly shuddering torch illuminating the path she had only taken once; frail, afraid and broken. Letting her hand unclench, she folded one atop the other in front of her, waiting for the tell-tale shadows at the other side of her prison. She didn’t need to wait long.

The gasp that followed the man’s advice was quick and faint but she pretended not to hear it as she put her head against the cavern’s walls, the protrusions of the rock digging into her skull. She looked like an almost broken doll. She was willing to bet that. A sleeping one.

Sleep, what a delightful stupidity.

“Emma.” Her name, another thing that she hated, another thing that kept the hope strong within her chest. Pressing her lips together, she looked beyond the bars into the dark eyes of a very particular brunette. Letting out a grim smile, she hummed, knowing well that every possible joy she had been able to feel didn’t reach her eyes anymore.

She could feel Regina’s pupils on her, taking notice on the changes of her appearance, the one that she had obsessively stared at while they happened at first, wishing for no scales to appear, for not high-pitched voice to come out of her throat. Her skin was frail and whiter, her hair colorless, her blood darker and her muscles spasmed. A side effect, whispers told her, of her fighting back.

But she wasn’t fighting anymore, was she?

She could tell Regina that, she mused, that there was no point on keeping up with the pretenses as she had already abdicated to the unbearable pain. Yet again, who she called when her thoughts were scrambled enough that she forgot shadows were her domain now? Who she called for when her fingers bled, and her fears brought her back to the vortex that had swallowed her whole, salty aftertaste on her lips where her tears had rested?

“Regina.” Her reply sounded almost mocking and she glanced away as the rush of the fire from the torch moved closer, brought forth by the pale and sweating guard, the remains of her predecessors a stench that had been cleaned already. Her eyes hurt but she forced herself to look back again; at the way Regina’s own irises slid over her; fearful and lost. She couldn’t fault him. It had been days since her so called parents had tried to come, even more since Hook had stopped to even pretend and so she had been stuck there; paler, bitter, closer to the edge.

Regina cleared her throat and she glanced down at her own hands, at where the dagger materialized, glimmering in the same sadistic way it always did; calling for her in old languages she hadn’t understood at first but now did.

It was funny, she momentarily thought, tasting blood on her tongue, how hope was so easily rekindled, like a sore memory. Hating herself but still unable to say no, she moved, the sound of her heavy steps another chip into the mountain of clues of how much it hurt for her to move.

“ _She won’t do it.”_

Yet, she yearned for it. She had asked for it, she had put the dagger in Regina’s hands, knowing, wishing, for her to be able to do something no one else would do and as the air between then cracked with unstable magic, she felt the buzz of the guards hitting the bars, the air filling with the scent of ozone. An almost nice change.

Hope had been what had first kept her sane, she mused. Hope that Regina would do the thing she was supposed to do but now everything had turned to be mechanical; a day gone, a day she was also erased from her own mind as the darkness waited, unperturbable. She only had memories to give now to the increasing void within her and she paid that price religiously, not having anything else to bargain with.

Hope had transformed from being a source of warmth to bitter coldness that slithered through the rood of her mouth; her soul rotting while at it to a frightening speed. It was funnier, she hummed, how she, the so-called savior, couldn’t even control her homicidal urges anymore.

Regina’s hands trembled as she rose the dagger and Emma narrowed her eyes, one hand reaching towards the bars, pretending the pain she felt was just another figment of her imagination. It was hard to tell these days after all.

“Do it.” They had danced this dance before. At first daily, then, thrice a week. Now time had stopped for her and yet she knew the visits were further in between, addled by the pain her vision brought with it. She hated the almost pleading tone her voice carried but she almost smiled at the way Regina’s eyes darkened; able to hear it.

She wondered if the plea was nothing but yet another trick one of the many voices she now possessed was using. She decided that she didn’t care.

They were there after all; waiting for a day in where Regina decided that she was ready to finish her just like she had asked. Before she was fully transformed, before the meek, weak voice of Emma, the real Emma, was totally snuffed out.

That day was one she knew was much closer than she was willing to bet for.

“Kill me.”

Regina’s face was trembling, and hope died a little more within her chest as she saw tears building at the edge of her eyes. At first, they had hoped that the mid-transformation would be enough to keep things at bay. Now Emma suspected that it was an impossible. And even then, hope still remained lodged on her lungs, stubborn and yet as fatal as the magic was.

As long as there was hope Regina would remain pretending that there was another solution. As long as Emma fought against it no other solution would be found. She wanted to scream and destroy at such notion, at the stupidity of it all. She was tired, so damn tired of everyone pretending she was stronger than she was; of everyone asking her to be resilient when there was nothing of her left but just the need to rest, to let everything else be destroyed and turned into ask.

He hand was grasped by Regina’s free one and she relished on the soft contact; pain diminishing just an inch, as fragmented as it already was. She had come to long for those moments in where Regina reached for her, her magic causing the darkness to hum happily, hungrily as her whole body lost the corded tension within her muscles.

She had stopped asking why or how. She only waited and so when the other woman’s lips were on her fingers she only let out a soft sigh of pure relief as everything but her, the true her, was erased for a millisecond. It soon returned, quicker, stronger everyday and it was far too apparent that there would be a day in where Regina’s touch wouldn’t keep it at bay. Until there was one day in where Regina would need to pay the price she had been asked to pay.

Or she refused and then there would truly be the end of her.

She longed to be able to freeze time, but she couldn’t, not yet. And so, she waited, knowing that Regina would never chose the second option, uncertainty far too strong; the implications of it written all over her face as she moved her lips away, fear and longing lacing her features. Emotions Emma had learnt to hate.

True love kiss; another irony. A crueler one.

They didn’t really have that many options, no matter how much Regina pretended to still be thinking on new ones. It was either the dagger or the kiss; a kiss she would never get, a kiss that would never be given. And who was her to ask? Regina had found her soulmate. The fact, the another annoying fact written all over Emma’s skin in ink that she wished to erase nothing but a footnote on a book that hadn’t ever been about her but her title. Tittle that wasn’t hers to hold anymore. Was it?

So, there she stood, in front of Regina, the brunette unable, uncapable, of killing her, changing, losing herself.

She yearned to ask her to not let her go but that was yet another thing she couldn’t ask.

“Please.” The warning of her word sounded colder than the last time she had uttered it, a few days ago and it was effective enough for Regina to take a step back; her features changing as the guard’s free hand went for his sword. Not that Emma was worried about it. If bored she would kill him with just a lunge forward, nails biting into the soft organ that was his heart.

“I’m sorry.”

Regina’s voice made her look back at her and the words were so worn already that Emma could peer between each sound, nothing left on their meaning. She knew after all that the brunette meant them. She knew what it was coming.

“Will you kill me?” Her voice wasn’t hers anymore. Colder, haughtier.

There was no answer and Emma smiled cruelly as she grabbed the bars with both of her hands, the pain and burn that elicited barely noticeable.

“Will you kiss me?” This time a giggle escaped her lips, a giggle that hold darkness and hatred, that hold the last bit of hope she dared to spare.

“Emma…”

Regina’s lips trembled, the dagger still clutched, reflecting a light that wasn’t really there as both of them stared at each other.

It didn’t matter; the rage and hopelessness she felt. It didn’t matter the anger nor the anguish because she would offer yet another memory to the darkness the second the brunette was gone as she reached for the other end of a cliff she had been falling through for far too long already; wishing to rest where no screams would touch her. It didn’t matter because Emma knew she was going to be kept there for another day as if there was anything, someone, to look at anymore.

“You are a coward.” She said, her lips touching the metal, her tongue probing the rust that covered the bar, her lips slithering towards the brunette’s face as the woman stood, unflinching and Emma could feel the magic cursing through both of them: lethal.

But so delightful.

“I asked you to do it.”

“You asked me to save you.”

Emma shrugged, not even ready to address technicalities or fine print anymore in a contract that was already null and void.

“There won’t be any me for much longer.”

And they both knew she was telling the truth. There was too little of her that still remained. And she was grateful in a way since that meant that no more tears would be shed. No more pleas.

No more hope.

She didn’t wait for the brunette to leave; she turned and sat with her back towards her, her knees hurting, her back crying desperately as blood-stained thoughts whispered promises to her. It didn’t matter, she thought, it didn’t matter.

But it did, it did matter.

She smiled coldly as a Regina sighed and left, the sound of her steps turning weaker. When the chain of the contraption finally reached her she dug her fingers into the wet soil, alive with the spilled fire of the slaughtered dragons around her. Clutching the vial of ink, she had managed to snatch from the last troubadour that had tried to narrate her story she cackled a tired, broken laugh.

The place was certainly filled with fools. Fools that knew of curses and magic and still presented her whatever little ingredient she needed with the same wistful look on their eyes that children would have.

And so, the Dark One began to plot.

* * *

 

The sound of chains made her smirk, the ones she had been toying with, the ones that had been put around her ankles a day ago, hanging limply from her hands as she toyed with them; playfully.

Hands that were still covered with ink; ink that reflected into the horrified eyes of Regina as she approached her, dagger in hand.

There was no use of that anymore; no more memories to give, no more her to hold to.

“Hello dear.” She spoke, and her voice was scratchy and alive with hundredths of lives that called for her, willing to be taken. “Missed me?”


End file.
